


A Learning Process

by The_girl_from_the_river



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John Watson, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Detective Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, Don't Read This, How Do I Tag, John doesn't know he's sexist, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, No Smut, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock is demanding, Soulmates, There's a case, but Sherlock helps him mend his ways, but its not really a case, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_girl_from_the_river/pseuds/The_girl_from_the_river
Summary: Sherlock wants a semblance of control over his life. Which was hard enough before John showed up.John doesn't know what to do with a soulmate who refuses to so much as bond.Basically, Sherlock's trying to exist in a sexist world, and Moriarty complicates things.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 110





	1. Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Brilliant and Unloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111560) by [typewrittencurlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewrittencurlie/pseuds/typewrittencurlie). 



> I don't own Sherlock's setting or its characters. :)
> 
> In which:  
> 1) your mate's name is written on the back of your neck  
> 2) Alpha/Omega, no betas  
> 3) Once Omegas are bound they have to do whatever their partner tells them to
> 
> This fic was inspired by Brilliant and Unloved, by typewrittencurlie. Feel free to check it out!
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“You summoned?” Sherlock deadpanned. It was the third time that week he’d been called to his bosses office, although it wasn’t entirely his fault.

“Have a seat Mr. Holmes.” His boss was a surly man by the name of Jones. He had never found his mate, and Sherlock had not gotten on his good side when he had pointed this out the first time they met. Sherlock sat.

There were really only two things he could have been called here for. Anderson, or his conversation with--

“Anderson has reported that you were acting less than friendly towards him today.” He gave Sherlock a long look. “I told you to try and get along with him.”

Sherlock met his boss’s gaze head-on. “I didn’t tell him anything that isn’t true.”

Jones sighed. “I quote “‘Shut up Anderson, you’ll lower the IQ of the entire street.’ That’s you speaking, in case you’d forgotten.” Sherlock smirked. He really felt no remorse for that. 

His boss leaned forward, to brace his elbow on the desk. “If you can’t stop antagonizing your coworkers, I will have to--”

This was a common speech. ‘Act like a complacent Omega, or I’ll fire you.’ Sherlock was sick of it. Anderson had had it coming. Sherlock was routinely dumped on useless cases, far below his abilities, and his coworker loved reminding him of this fact.

Sherlock interrupted him. “There’s no need.” 

“What?”

“I said there’s no need.” He stood, and covered the distance to the door in swift purposeful strides. “I quit.” Sherlock did not wait for a response as he left the office. 

His boss had the large office at the end of the hall, so Sherlock popped into his joint workspace before clearing out. 

His partner, Lestrade, looked up when he walked in. He raised an inquisitorial eyebrow. 

“I quit again.” Sherlock informed him, as he scooped up the coat on his chair. Lestrade groaned.

“Not again, Sherlock. You know we need you.”

Sherlock had quit before. They’d always asked for him back within a month. Lestrade certainly had something to do with that. Scotland Yard needed Sherlock Holmes, but they hated to admit to needing an Omega. A bunch of prideful imbeciles, is what they were. Sherlock shrugged.

“You know where to find me.” Sherlock reminded him, as he headed for the door. His hand paused above the handle. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of moving out of my flat.” He shook his phone in the air, reminding Lestrade to reach out, and then he exited the building.

\----

In three hours, Sherlock was all packed. He’d had to abandon two experiments that required refrigeration. That was unfortunate. However, beyond his chemistry set and other devices, Sherlock had surprisingly few worldly possessions. 

In truth, Sherlock had been meaning to move out for some time. His neighborhood consisted of Alphas. None of them approved of his presence as an Omega.

Few did, even among his sex. It was nearly impossible for an Omega to be anything but a housewife or a janitor. 

Sherlock didn’t give a rat’s tail for what people thought of him, but much as he was loath to admit it, he had his safety to look after. Alphas could be… aggressive towards an unmatched Omega.

Leaving his three bags of belongings on the floor, Sherlock went to turn in his rent.

Clarence, his landlord, lived upstairs. Generally, Sherlock would just leave an envelope of cash in his mailbox, but he knew the alpha wouldn’t take well to being given notice by mail. With a sigh, Sherlock climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door down the short hallway. It smelled of alcohol and wallpaper, but Sherlock was almost noseblind to the scent after having inhabited the flat downstairs for five months.

The Clarence that came to the door, was wearing ratty sweatpants, and nothing on his upper half. Sherlock was quite a bit taller, but Clarence bridged that gap with imposing body language.

“Here’s the month’s rent. I’m moving out.” Sherlock held out an envelope. Clarence didn’t take it. Sherlock shook the paper a bit, wondering if his landlord was as daft as he seemed. 

Not breaking eye contact (really, the lengths some people will go to assert dominance), Clarence reached for the envelope.

Then, with surprising swiftness, he grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, and pinned it to the wall above him. Sherlock dropped the cash, and used his free hand to swing a punch at Clarence’s face. 

It collided, making Clarence swear. 

He recovered far too quickly, and caught Sherlock’s free arm. He pinned it, too, out of the way, trying to still Sherlock’s struggles with a rock hard grip. 

The Alpha went straight for Sherlock’s pants, undoing them as best he could as Sherlock writhed, trying to get loose. They were completely undone, when Sherlock remembered his legs. 

He kneed upwards, making contact with his landlord’s groin. Clarence recoiled in pain. It was enough for Sherlock to wrench his arms free.

The Omega fled to the stairwell. Clarence caught up only enough to grab Sherlock’s arm. It threw him off kilter, and he tumbled down the stairs.

Pain shot up and down his limbs. If Sherlock had not had a history with drugs, he would have been far more unsteady getting up. As it was, his legs protested at the top of their lungs. Fumbling with his pants, Sherlock stumbled down the hall and out onto the streets where he collapsed, breathing heavily.

He had just about got his breathing under control, when two Alphas spotted him and rushed over.

“Oh no. Are you alright dear?” “What happened?” the two of them exclaimed.

Sherlock felt his breathing go ragged again. He knew the ladies were only trying to help, but the smell of another Alpha was too much for him. It smelled like danger.

One used his arm to help him to a standing position.

“Get your hands off me,” he said, yanking his arm from the woman’s grasp and trying to back away.

Their worried gazes intensified.

“You’re hurt. You need to get to a hospital.”

Sherlock took them in. They were both shorter than him, one in her twenties, the other middle aged. He wouldn’t be able to fight them off. 

They were also the nosy sort that wouldn’t be put off by some rapid deductions on his part. His legs were still aching, but adrenaline blinded him to it. Fight or flight. He wouldn’t get very far trying to run.

Fight. Not the usual reaction for an Omega. He could only hope it would catch them off guard. He needed to get out of there...

He always kept a gun on him, and he took it out now. Desperate times called for desperate means. He pointed it at the couple.

“Put your hands up, and walk back the way you came.” His voice came out higher than he would have liked, but it was authoritative. Their hands flew to their heads. Neither backed away.

“Put the gun down,” said the eldest calmly.

Her voice came out strangely. Her accent still existed, but it was as if someone had underlined it heavily. There was an undertone of something else, like her voice had developed the remarkable ability of cutting through flesh.

It was a compulsion.

Compulsions, put simply, were orders from an Alpha that an Omega was physically incapable of resisting. They were generally associated with bonded mates, because any and every order from the Alpha of a bonded pair was a compulsion. However, in scenarios in which someone’s life is in jeopardy, Alphas could use compulsions on Omegas regardless of mating. Scientists believed this was developed as a survival mechanism to protect the Omegas. This could, obviously, be a load of dung. Fields of study were dominated by Alphas, as Omegas were seen as unfit for such jobs. It was just another way Omegas had less power.

Sherlock had given the ladies this power. He had leveled the gun at their heads, thus making it a situation compatible to such an order. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He felt the compulsion take hold. Other Omegas described it as if their body had been taken over and someone else was in control, but to Sherlock it felt like a deep desire to complete the task. An irresistible need.

He had dabbled in drugs. He was very familiar with the feeling of wanting something so badly it was beyond your ability to resist the urge. He’d tried to get off drugs for that reason. He needed to feel like he had some power over his baser incilinations. 

It was this power he called on now. His arm shuddered as he fought to shove the compulsion off. It was a mental battle. Thankfully, that was his home turf. After an internal struggle, he felt the pressure of the desire remove itself from his mind. He breathed a sigh of relief, and steadied his arm. His gun was still pointed at the two women.

Genuine fear now alighted their faces. They backed away, hands open placatingly.

When he was satisfied with their retreat, Sherlock holstered his gun, and turned to leave.

He didn’t get five steps before a wave of nausea overtook him, and he saw nothing.

\----

Sherlock awoke in the back of a cab. 

The two Alphas from earlier sat on each side of him. The youngest, seeing his open eyes, said “We're taking you to the hospital. Try to take deep breaths.”

Willing to do no such thing, Sherlock assessed the situation. 

There was no good way to get to the doors, and he doubted his ability to get anywhere even if he did manage an escape. 

Assuming they were taking him to the hospital- and in truth there was no proof- Sherlock’s best bet was to wait until they arrived.

He was mildly surprised when they did indeed pull into an Omega hospital drop off. He was far less surprised when the Alphas thought it necessary to ‘escort’ him into the building.

They were right in believing he wouldn’t go in otherwise. 

He did, however, have the dignity not to be dragged.


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much just them meeting again...
> 
> Sherlock being Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy:)

John was not supposed to be working in the Omega hospital. He was an Alpha, and generally administered only to them. However, the Omega wing was desperately low on staff, and he’d been volunteered for the front desk.

He was sorting files in a cabinet on the far wall when the door opened. He was slightly embarrassed that his back was turned, and the newcomers could see the Mate Mark on the back of his neck. But he had been the one who hadn’t worn a turtleneck that day, so it was his own fault.

Spinning to face the door, he plastered on a smile. “How can I help you?”

The patient who had just entered was lean with a mop of handsome dark curls. He was held on both sides by an Alpha at the arm. The Omega was taller than both of them, and seemed to be having a battle with himself. His face was shifting emotions at a hundred mile an hour. 

Then, it stilled into a mask, and he began pulling at the arms restraining him.

“John. Tell them to get their bloody hands off me.” He spat.

John didn’t question how the man knew his name. “Get your bloody hands off him,” he growled.

When he looked back on it later, he would say it felt like he’d always heard compulsions described. As if someone had clamped hold of his mouth, and made the words come out, himself a helpless bystander.

He was an Alpha, so that was not possible. Still, it was strange.

The two startled alphas dropped their hold on the man. He was clearly injured, and why he needed to be forced into the building for his own health was beyond John.

However, instead of using his newfound freedom to register himself at the desk, he flipped up his collar, nodded at John, and marched out, acting for all the world as if he owned the place. 

John sighed. He’d probably have to deal with the police now.

\----

John was detained long after he should have gone home for the day, but he was eventually let go. The hospital ‘failing to treat a patient’ was seen as not his fault, and the issue was dropped.

The police came to the same conclusion that the Alphas had. The curly-haired man had been raped. His supposed flat was completely empty. 

His landlord had been apprehended, and was being interrogated about the Omega’s identity.

The mailbox sported the name Holmes. An Omega of the same name had quit Scotland Yard that same day. It was considered highly likely that this was the same man.   
John personally scoffed at the idea. An Omega part of Scotland Yard? It sounded pretty outlandish. The story also went that the man had resisted a compulsion, so clearly it was all muddled up. 

An officer came out of a nearby room and hailed him. John walked over. 

“It has been confirmed that the Omega in question is Sherlock Holmes, former detective Inspector to Scotland Yard. If you have no further information, you are free to return home.”

John’s hand shot to the back of his neck where the name Sherlock was inked. Could this man be his soulmate? Had he seen John’s Mate Mark in the hospital? Is that how he’d known John’s name? Where was Sherlock now? These questions and more, flooded his mind with the introduction of the man’s name. The officer interrupted his rapid-fire thoughts.

“Sir?”

“Sorry. No, I have no new data. Do you know where this man- Sherlock- is living now?”

“No, but we are not treating it as a missing persons case. He has just moved out. If you have no further questions? Alright. Thank you for your time.”

Acknowledging the man’s thanks, John left the building, a hurricane forming in his mind.

\----

After some digging, John unearthed a blog by one Sherlock Holmes. The claims he made seemed far fetched, but it listed Sherlock's new place of residence: 221B Baker Street.

John wasted no time scouting it out.

It was a normal looking building. It was in a neighborhood of Alphas, but then, his last place had been too. 

The place itself had a nondescript black door, with an equally average knocker. John stood there, staring at the knocker for several minutes. Then, telling himself to stop dawdling, he let it fall twice. 

A kind, grey-haired Alpha came to the door. She smiled at him patronizingly.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Sherlock Holmes?” He tried to look behind her. Just stairs and an umbrella holder.

“Sorry dear. No visitors, he's still moving in.”

John looked at her in surprise. “It's been a week!”

The woman looked at him with confusion. “Who are you?”

John worried his bottom lip, and slipped a hand to the back of his neck. “I umm. Well, I might be his soulmate. But don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t seem very open to the idea.”

Her eyes lit up, and she stepped out of the way. “Up the stairs, don’t bother knocking. I’ll go make tea!” She directed him, as she hurried off.

Tentatively, John climbed the steps, but he paused at the door. The lady said not to knock…

He pushed it open.

The space was remarkably lived-in for having been inhabited for just a week. It was far more spacious than the last space the man had had, and it seemed comfy. Although, there was a skull on the mantle. 

John’s gaze almost missed him. Sherlock was sitting in a black chair, with his eyes closed. He appeared to be meditating. Without opening his eyes, he spoke. “It can't be the mailman, she’s too short. Stop her inquiries.”

John cleared his throat. “Uh.. Pardon?”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open. John knew the Omega recognized him, but he stayed silent. The moment stretched out to an uncomfortable length. Then, Sherlock spoke again. “May I use your phone?” He stuck out his hand. John reached into his pocket. 

“Yeah, sure. Here” 

Sherlock took the device, and started typing far faster than John could ever hope to manage. Eyes on the screen, he asked “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“I’m sorry?” John replied.

“Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock handed the phone back.

“Afghanistan. How did you... “ he trailed off as the landlady entered with a tray.

“Ah, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock greeted her.

“I’ve brought tea.” She stated the obvious. She placed the tray of teacups on a table by Sherlock, and sat in an armchair opposite him. “So John, tell us about yourself.”

“Well, I--”

“He’s an Alpha doctor named John. He’s a veteran and has recently gotten in a fight with his brother. Maybe because he’s an alcoholic, but probably because he recently had a fight with his girlfriend. It is extremely likely that he is my mate. And most importantly, he was just leaving.”

“How did you know all that?” John asked, trying to catch up. “Wait a minute, I’m not leaving”

Sherlock stood, and grabbed the coat on the back of his chair. “Perhaps not, but I am.” 

Mrs.Hudson stood as well. “Sherlock!” she exclaimed.

Just then, another man entered the flat. “Lestrade. Right on time. It's not the postman.” Lestrade didn’t blink at Sherlock walking briskly past him to the door. 

“No, and it's not the sister either.” Lestrade let him go out the door first, and then followed.

“I told you it wasn’t likely to be. Her ears were newly pierced.” Their voices became more faint as they went down the stairs.

John turned to Mrs.Hudson. He was sure utter confusion was evident on his face. The landlady came over and patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry dear. He’s always like that.”

“He’s always like that?”

“I’m afraid so, dear. You’ll be good for him.”

John was beginning to second guess the wisdom of soul mates.

\----

John worked overtime the next day, trying to focus on something mundane to keep his head from exploding.

Hanging up his coat at five o’clock, his phone began to ring. He picked up. “Hello. This is John Watson.”

“I have rules.” John thought he recognized the voice.

“Is this Sherlock?”

“Yes. I am Sherlock, you are John. Are we established? Great.” The man’s voice was unmistakably annoyed. “I have rules.” He reiterated.

“Rules?”

“Yes rules. You agree to my terms, and we can attempt to get to know each other. You don’t adhere to my terms, and you get ghosted. Do you follow?”

“Yes, I follow. Why is this--”

“Rule number one. You will treat me as an equal.” 

“Of cour--”

“Don’t give me that. You don’t see Alphas and Omegas as equals. You will repress these prejudices when with me.”

John frowned. He wasn’t prejudiced. Alphas and Omegas were suited to different things, but that didn’t mean that he saw Omegas as less-than.

“Yeah, of co--Agreed.”

“Number two. We are not taking the bond.”

John was flabbergasted. “We are soulmates!” he told the phone offrontedly.

“Should you force the bond, I will not complete it.”

The bond could only be taken between people who were mates, and once it was initiated it must be completed, or both parties would die. 

John's response came out breathy. “Okay.”

“Number three. This is the most important one.” What could possibly be more important than a death threat? John asked himself. “Never EVER use compulsion on me.”

“Sherlock,” John said as calmly as he could “compulsions are not something that we have control over. They just happen.” He took his key out of his pocket, and shut his office door. 

“Ironic that you are complaining about control.” Sherlock replied. Abruptly, the phone was hung up. 

John stared at his phone for a moment. He could understand where Sherlock was coming from. He wanted a life that was entirely in his control. It was just… strange. He was an Omega. He was denying his nature.

John called Sherlock back.

The Omega picked up immediately.

“I accept.” Suddenly, he realized something. “Wait, how did you get my number in the first place?”

“I’m on a case John. Three murders. It's like Christmas. Come by tomorrow at three. We can talk then, and maybe I’ll have found the--” Sherlock hung up again, as he delved into talking to himself.

John rolled his eyes. He might not get the traditional Alpha/Omega relationship, but this would certainly be an adventure.


	3. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things pick up

Sherlock’s foot assaulted the floor in a rhythmic, belligerent fashion. It was 2:58, and he needed to get to the morgue to reexamine the bodies, but he had told John to meet him at his flat at three.

Why had he done that? He shouldn't have done that. Sherlock glanced down at his leg. Recognizing his own agitation, he got up to check if his acid was still boiling. It was.

What to do now. Why were minutes so long?

Bored. Bored, bored, bore--

A knock came at the door. Sherlock strode back into the living room.

“Nobody knocks. Just come in. What is it?” Sherlock called out.

It was John. He was early. It was strange enough to catch Sherlock’s attention. His mind latched onto that fact. As if he had just been released from prison, Sherlock grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

“You’re early.” He stated questioningly.

“Yeah. I-- where are you going?”

“Morgue. We can talk on the way. You were saying?”

“Apparently I couldn’t focus, so they let me out five minutes early.”

“That's why you are wearing those shoes. I knew that was strange. Usually you’d go home and change. Cab!” A cab pulled up to the curb almost immediately.

John slid in, and Sherlock followed.

“Where to?” Asked the driver.

“Morgue.” Sherlock replied impatiently.

“I was asking the Alpha.” The driver said dismissively.

“Uh. The morgue.” John reiterates. He turned to Sherlock. “Why are we going to the morgue?”

“A series of murders. The most recent had a slit in its left cheek perfect for taking blood discreetly once the victim is dead. But why is that necessary? It wasn’t so they’d know to hide the body. The body wasn’t hidden. So why did the murderer need to draw blood before the police found the body, and why did they have to hide their intentions? I have to check if the other bodies match.”

John paused to take this all in. “Why are you even investigating this? You quit your job.” 

“Scotland yard was bent on giving me boring cases and daft co-workers. This one is interesting, and they are undoubtedly lost.”

“Scotland yard doesn’t consult amateurs.”

“John do you know how many times I quit my job?” John stared at him. Sherlock didn’t wait for him to guess. “Four. Do you know how many times I’ve been rehired?” 

“Four?” John raised an eyebrow.

“No John, three. I’m still unemployed.”

“Right.” John muttered, turning to look out the window. Sherlock smiled a bit. “I still don’t know why we couldn’t just go out for coffee.” John grumbled, as they passed a cafe.

“How dull.” Sherlock replied.

The rest of the ride was wethered in silence. It was not much longer until they arrived. Sherlock left the bill for John to pay, and raced into the building. 

Hoping to grab the stuff he needed and get out, he stopped dead in his tracks when he got into the lab. The blood samples Molly had promised him weren’t there. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the room in confusion. Catching himself, he turned the expression into a glare, and left.

He met John who was just getting to the top of the stairs. Sherlock inclined his head a bit at the man, but was moving much too fast for any sort of exchange. Sherlock swept down the hall, assuming John would follow. He did, although with louder footsteps than were necessary. 

Confoundingly, Molly wasn’t in the morgue either. Sherlock paused for a second, then cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted “Molly!”

“Good gracious Sherlock was that really necessary?” asked John, rubbing his ears.

Molly materialized from a door on the left. “I do have a job y’know, Sherlock.” She pointed out.

“That makes one of us” Sherlock responded, undeterred.

“Two, actually.” John put in. Sherlock smirked. 

“I need to look over the first two victims again. And I need the blood samples.”

“Can’t. The authorities are in there. It's why I wasn't here.”

“They’re probably looking for the wrong thing, idiots.” He was already walking to the door on the left. 

“Sherlock you’re not likely to get your job back by messing with investigations.” John warned him.

“I don’t want my job back!” Sherlock threw over his shoulder as the door swung shut.

There were only two doors in the hallway beyond. Sherlock tried them both. They were locked. Undaunted, Sherlock reached into his coat pocket. Dangit. Where were his lockpicks? 

It was a very unhappy Sherlock that burst back into the room moments later. “The doors are locked.” He announced.

“Smart.” Molly commented with a smirk.

John just looked relieved. “Perhaps a cup of coffee wouldn’t be so bad after all?” He said tentatively.

\----

“And what will your husband be having?” the cashier nodded at Sherlock

“I’ll have a large coffee. Black, two sugars.” Sherlock answered as John spluttered at the use of the word ‘husband.’

“That’ll be three thirty-five.”

Both men were silent as John paid, and they waited for their orders. They arrived quickly, because both men had ordered simple drinks.

“So.” John began, sliding into a table, and handing Sherlock his cup. Sherlock took the seat opposite and raised his eyebrows when the Alpha did not finish the thought. “Um, what do you enjoy?”

“Serial killings. Playing the violin. Anything with sufficient mental stimulation.” Sherlock met Jon’s gaze head on, and waited for a reaction. The man blinked.

“Right. Well I enjoy going out with friends on friday nights and, I don’t know, a good cup of tea.” Apparently seeing the futility of such stilted conversation, John switched tactics. “Why did you quit your job so many times?”

“I worked with a bunch of beavers who could not see past their noses yet refused to let me on any substantial cases.” John nodded. Sherlock didn’t elaborate. Jon wearily tried another question. 

“How did you know that stuff about me?”

“I observed, John. People don’t know how to use their eyes. For example, the Omega with the bald man over there? She has recently resumed her smoking habit, but her mate doesn’t know.”

“How can you tell?” John leaned forward.

“Tobacco ash. She’s kept her hands very clean of it all, but she hasn’t managed to keep it off her sleeves. It's low-tar, so she could be trying to take care of her health, but more likely her Alpha is opposed to the drawbacks of such a habit. “

“Three-hundred types of tobacco ash, hmm?” John looked amused, but Sherlock caught the awe behind it. 

“Not quite three-hundred.”

“Alright, so you observe.” John cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Sherlock let him hold this position for a few moments before asking,

“What are you doing?”

“Deducing you,” came the reply. John said nothing more. He simply continued his strange observance, wrinkles intermittently creasing his brow. 

After an agonizing amount of time in which John said nothing, and, Sherlock assumed, found nothing, the doctor leaned back in his chair.

“What are the results, doctor?”

“You put two sugars in your tea.”

“You heard me order, John.”

“The way you are sipping it suggests you don’t care much for its taste. So why did you order it? Presumably to fly under the radar with something inconspicuous. But everything else about you is not manufactured to blend in. So, it must be subconscious. You deliberately work against the need to be out of the way, small. Words generally connected to Omegas. Conclusion? You don’t want a relationship because you are afraid of submitting to these stereotypes.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows climbed with each sentence until he finished with narrowed eyes. “That's a rather long way to jump.” His voice was a sheet of ice.

“It's absolute BS. I met your brother.” John said as if that was an explanation.

“Ah, my dear brother.’ Sherlock’s voice switched to one of a weary traveler.

“Yes we had a… talk.”

“I’m impressed. He’s not one to do that, you know.” Sherlock downed a third of his coffee. It was true he didn’t care for the taste, but he cared even less for those creams. Easy to poison.

“Do what?”

“Talk.”

“I gathered as much. He made a proposition.” 

“Asked you to keep an eye on me. Probably for money.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, but I have a job. I don’t need money.” Sherlock tensed.

“What was your counter offer?” John was looking more uncomfortable.

“Ummm.” He sighed. “Information.”

“On me.” John grunted his assent. “What did he tell you?”

“You have family issues, many of them concerning your gender.” John frowned. “He wouldn’t give details. Talked about your intelligence. You hate the world. But you never take it out on the people around you. Never go all criminal mastermind. You take it out on yourself. You’ve knocked yourself up on drugs pretty bad a couple times.” 

Both men were now distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation. Sherlock was stock still, and his eyes were boring into John. He was squirming under the gaze. Still he powered on.

“The problem is the world, not you Sherlock.” He said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Coffee shop noises continued around them, but it felt dead silent. Then, Sherlock stood up. 

“You’re right. The problem isn’t me. It's my colleagues who won’t give me access to the dead bodies I need.” 

\----

It was strange how at home John looked in Sherlock’s apartment. Sherlock had his eyes trained on his mate. The man was sitting on a chair not far from him, reading a magazine. It didn’t make sense for him to be so casual. 

Yet Sherlock could find nothing- no twitches, or out of place breaths- to suggest he was anything but perfectly at home. Unbidden, the coffee conversation welled up in his mind. Before the topic had shifted to Mycroft, John had seemed perfectly at ease. He hadn’t so much as blinked while giving the sugar speech.

“John. Was the coffee monologue one of Mycroft’s concoctions?” He asked.

“Mhmm. He said the truth might spark a reaction from you.” Sherlock huffed. Before he could reply, John spoke again. “I am not going to be a messenger. Any conversation you want to have with him can occur without my services as a middle man.”

Sherlock frowned. It was unnerving that John knew him so well. To avoid further comments, he picked up his phone, and dialed Mycroft.

The brothers didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Tell John it was not part of our deal that you be informed of the meeting.”

“As if I can’t see your hand when you pull strings. You’re not as subtle as you think you are, My.” His brother chuckled.

“Have you solved your case yet?” It was a clear ploy to change the subject, but Sherlock let it slide.

“No. You’d think they’d just get over their pride and let me on the scene.” 

“John must truly be working wonders if you haven’t hacked their database yet.”

“They haven’t put anything online yet. The universe is conspiring against me.”

“The universe wants you to get to know your soulmate.” Mycroft hung up. Sherlock chucked the offending device across the room. It bounced off the couch and onto the floor.

“Has it occurred to you that the slit in the woman’s mouth might just… not mean anything?” John said.

“A blind. A ploy to draw attention from…” Sherlock delved into mumbles.”No. there is nothing to distract from. Towards. Look- look towards- blood.” Sherlock halted his frenzied utterances, and ran to his phone. He viciously attacked the screen, and the phone only gave one ring before it was picked up on the other end.

“Lestrade. What was the blood type of all the victims? Were they all the same?”

“Yeah. O. Why?”

“Hold up.” Sherlock scrunched up his face. O, O, o, oh…

\----

“We have a new seating arrangement today. Max, you will be sitting with Sandra at Helium.” Children shifted around with the directions. Sherlock zoned it out. The tables were arranged and named by elements of the periodic table. He had occupied the Oxygen table since day one, and had not had a partner since Jenny the first week.

He’d asked Miss Scott, in private, why she separated him like that. 

She’d told him “You sit at the oxygen table, because you are what allows me to breathe in a world full of gaseous atoms who zip around pretending they do anything but take up space.”

That had made Sherlock smile. He loved Miss Scott, because she just seemed to get him. While the world was conspiring against him, she made science jokes. She was the only teacher who seemed to understand the way he functioned- alone. So, he had felt mildly betrayed when she assigned him a table partner. 

“Jim, you will join Sherlock at the Oxygen table.”

It was the new kid’s first day. Not that Sherlock had really noticed. He had taken the ten seconds it took to deduce him, and had then turned back to his book.

To compound upon the problem, Miss Scott did not remove him from the table the entire year. It was a bit like she was matchmaking. They weren’t a couple, in fact they didn’t talk to each other once until two months in.

Coffee had been the catalyst. 

Sherlock had brought the drink after having not slept the night before- for an experiment of course. Jim had wrinkled his nose.

“How can you drink that?”

“It's not without some sacrifice on my part, I assure you.” Sherlock had replied, arrogant even then. 

“For the caffeine then? Tea is much better, although coffee is a better business.” 

Sherlock had laughed “What, have you researched what it would take to open a cafe? You? Own a cafe? Next you’re going to tell me you're going to use puns to name it.”

Jim had flipped him off, and said “Now I’m going to do it just to spite you.” 

“Boys, settle down.” Miss Scott had interrupted with a twitch of her lips. They’d been friends all that year. Sherlock hadn’t kept track of Jim when they left for different high schools. 

\----

“O. Oxygen’s abbreviation on the periodic table of the elements. My table. Jim. Cafe with a bad pun. Gotta go Lestrade. I wish you good solving.”

Sherlock frantically pulled up a map on his laptop. “John. I think I have a lead.”


	4. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finish everything up with a very dramatic encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to whoever is still reading this. I'm sorry this last chapter took so long. I was off the grid for two weeks, and couldn't finish edits before I left. This one in particular needed a lot of clearing up.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“I still don’t think whatever random kid you met in middle school is the murderer. You’re drawing conclusions with no proof.” John had reluctantly followed Sherlock to the cafe he was bent on investigating. The place was abandoned, and everything was dusty. He had sneezed twice already, hence the grumbling.

Sherlock didn’t respond, but continued picking through old metal chairs. John followed. 

He opened his mouth to complain again, but was interrupted.

“Proof shmoof. Doesn’t matter so long as he’s right.” said a new voice. It was neither John’s nor Sherlock’s. John stubbed his toe on a chair in surprise. He cussed, then hopped around to face the voice. 

A man stepped forward. He was encased in the shadows at the back of the establishment, and Sherlock’s flashlight couldn’t reach him. “Moriarty at your service. Although Sherlock would know me as Jim.” John could hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, I’m the murderer. I’m sure you saw it coming, Sherl. It's been in the works for a very long time.”

“I hardly think what you did to the jocks can be considered a good primer for homicide.” Sherlock informed him cautiously.

“Well, I’m here aren’t I? No one has caught me.”

“We have.” 

Moriarty laughed. “Sherlock. Tsk tsk. You think I don’t remember what you’re like? You didn’t call the police. You came with your little mate, and thought it would work out. Well I’m veeery sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid this time you’ve been beat.” Laser sights appeared on Sherlock’s chest. Looking down, John saw the same lights on his own shirt.

“I really am sorry to have to kill you. You were very entertaining.” 

John noticed his heart rate increasing. Moriarty continued, “That’s why I’ve planned a bit more entertainment before I leave. I think it is a much better option than dying. Although I’m not sure if Sherlock would agree.”

Sherlock’s gaze was fixed on the darkness where Moriarty stood, and both his hands were clutching his blue scarf. John narrowed his eyes. 

“You two are going to take the bond.” Moriarty, walks casually forward, and as his face comes into the light, John does a double take. He looks like your average British man. And yet, something's off about him. Maybe it's the way his eyes are opened a bit too wide, or the way they glint with a manic light. This was not the face of a sane man. 

John’s eyes flicked to his mate. Sherlock’s eyes were squeezed shut, his scarf’s knot coming undone as he tugged at it in stress.

Moriarty laughed at the implied distress in both their gazes. “Charming, the two of you. But remember, it's this or death.” The laugh seemed to awaken something in Sherlock, because he blinked. 

“I don’t trust you. How do we know you’ll spare us?”

“You don’t. But you currently have snipers aimed at your heart. You are not in a position to negotiate.”

John turned to Sherlock. “Do you want to do this? Because if you don’t I’ll cover for you.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “No. No, it's the only way.” 

He removed his scarf and coat methodically. This unbundling left his neck bare. On the back of it, John knew, was written his own name. 

John himself was not wearing a coat with a collar. 

He took a step closer. He nodded, knowing he couldn’t really say anything meaningful before this started. Reaching up, he placed both hands on the back of Sherlock’s neck, covering his name.

At first nothing happened.

And then? Hot. Everything was hot. John’s hands were burning off, and tendrils of the fire were hurtling down his arms, searing the flesh off his bones.

He finally understood how couples could die if the bond wasn’t completed. He was draining Sherlock’s lifeforce, and it was too much for his body to handle alone. He was being roasted like a slightly gooey marshmallow.

Finally, cool hands interlocked behind his own neck. The fire went crazy. It stopped hurting, but it burned on, simmering under his skin, moving through him like lightning through a rod. It was galloping between them at light speeds, a connection of pure energy.

The men’s eyes met.

The energy was going so fast, it seemed to solidify. Then, it settled. Dissipated. John felt their mingled energies sink into a latent stillness, and a cool wave washed over him. 

Hesitantly, John removed his hands. They had formed a death grip on Sherlock’s neck, and sometime in the process, their foreheads had met. Finally able to process the grey eyes boring into his own, John took a deep breath. 

Sherlock too, let his hands drop. The two of them moved back from each other, eyes still locked. 

John felt the same, just more...whole. It was like he’d unlocked a whole nother level of access to himself. He felt Sherlock like the limb he’d never had.

The moment was broken, when Moriarty began slow clapping. Sherlock blinked, then turned to him, whipping out a gun, John hadn’t known he had. A growl rippled from his mouth, as he leveled the gun at his old friend.

Moriarty pouted. “Hey now. That wasn’t that bad was it? Anyway, you shoot, and you and your mate get your heads blown off.” Sherlock did not put the gun down. Jim’s voice took on the double-edged intonation of a compulsion. “Drop the gun Sherlock.” The gun hit the cafe’s wooden floor. “Sit down.” Sherlock snarled, but took the nearest chair in jerky movements he was clearly struggling against.

It was horrible to watch Sherlock lose control. Through the bond, John felt Sherlock seize up. It felt markedly _wrong._

John took an aggressive step forward.

Jim’s attention snapped to him. Moriarty’s eyebrows shot up in an exaggerated look of shock. He put a hand over his heart. “Why John!” he exclaimed. “You aren’t going to put Sherlock in danger are you? Take one step further, and I assure you, that I’ll add another tally to my list of kills.” John froze.

“Of course, I have every intention of adding one, but it doesn’t have to be both of you.”

“Me.” Sherlock spoke as if resigned from his seat. John looked between the two ex-friends.

“What?”

Moriarty smiled at Sherlock. “Actually, it's John’s choice.”

“WHAT?” John repeated.

“One of us is going to die. He’s making you choose.” Sherlock’s voice was completely emotionless.

“And you want to-- No. I am not letting you do that. Your brains are not getting blown to bits. Not on my watch.” John raised his chin as he said it, willing Sherlock to defy him.

“John. You can’t get shot. You’re needed by a lot of patients”

Moriarty cackled. “How sweet. But it doesn’t matter Sherl. John gets to choose.” John tensed his jaw. He recognized what this man was doing. He was taking every bit of control from Sherlock that he could. John would have thwarted this in any way he could, if it didn’t mean Sherlock’s death.

“Stop.” John put in. “If I have to die, just do it.” He raised his chin. He’d faced death before. He could do it again. For Sherlock. “I’m ready.”

Moriarty looked confused for a moment, before breaking into a grin. “Oh, no, no. You’re not dying by sniper. Sherlock is going to kill you. And you’re going to make sure he does it.”

Sherlock’s face was a lesson in rage. There was no room for shock, or obstinance. He was absolutely livid. It wasn’t quiet, calculated anger. It was a bulldozer of hatred taking down the whole world with his steel eyes. “NO.” he said.

John closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. This was what the bond was for. Protecting his mate. “Sherlock.” he said quietly. “Pick up the gun. _Do not shoot yourself._ ” he hastily added on. Tension accumulated on Sherlock’s brow, but he responded to the command.

“John, I-- stop it.” Sherlock bit out. 

“Point the gun at me.” John’s voice did not tremble, but it lost even more volume. He was now staring down the barrel of the gun.

John closed his eyes. In a voice hardly a whisper he finished. “Shoot.”

The gun fired with a bang.

\----

“...and then I didn’t die. I’m actually lost for this part of the story. Sherlock, care to explain?”

Sherlock was doing something on his phone, but he looked up when John said his name. “I had called in reinforcements for the snipers. I think Lestrade himself coordinated that. That left Jim as the only threat. So I took him out.”

“I don’t understand,” a bearded officer said. “You’re an Omega. Was the order to kill him not a compulsion?”

Lestrade sighed. “He can resist them. Has been able to for years, although he prefers to keep it quiet.”

The officer shook his head. “And why should I believe you?”

Lestrade gave the officer a world-weary look, and turned to John. “John?”

John smiled. “Hey Sherlock. Blow me a kiss.” he said cheekily.

Sherlock looks up from his phone just long enough to roll his eyes. “Over my dead body. Get me a new case, and I _might_ consider making you tea.”

John’s smile widened. He turned to the officer. Hilariously, the man looked gobsmacked. Lestrade ignored him, and took out his own phone. 

“About needing a case. I just might have something good for you…” 

Fin


End file.
